


follow me home

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider 555
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Families of Choice, M/M, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takumi gets a new job. His manager is a startlingly familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> y'know, sometimes you're just in the mood to combine two things you love into one big self-indulgent mess. in this case those two things are yuutaku and doushitemo furetakunai. (i apologize in advance to anyone who reads this.)

On his way home that night, he just so happens to glance up.  
   
(He wonders, later, what might have happened if he hadn’t. He wonders what might have changed. If, instead of _this_ , there would instead just be an empty place. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind of something important being missing.)  
   
He glances up, staring for a moment at the sliver of crescent moon visible behind the clouds, and sees something else out of the corner of his eye. The silhouette of a person, standing on the roof of the apartment complex across the street.  
   
Standing on the ledge, to be exact.  
   
“Oh shit,” he says aloud, as the reality of what he’s seeing sinks in, his entire body gone tense as he hesitates. It’s not his problem, he tries to tell himself. He’s just a passerby. It’s not his job to talk people down. Might be nothing, anyhow – just some idiot teenager risking their neck for a thrill.  
   
But even as he thinks it, he’s already started to run.  
   
In the lobby of the apartment building he jabs at the elevator button at least ten times before the ‘Out of Order’ sign finally registers. Cursing under his breath, he sprints for the stairs instead, taking them two at time. There’s a stitch in his side by the time he reaches the eighth floor landing, and by the time he reaches the roof his breath is coming in quick gasps. (Maybe Mari was right about him being out of shape.)  
   
The person is still there, thankfully. Still staring down at the long, long drop. They don’t seem to have heard him, despite the way he’d burst through the door, and he approaches them cautiously from the side until he can see their face. A man, maybe a few years older than him, his expression eerily calm. The streetlights down below reflect in his eyes in a strange, unsettling way.  
   
His foot moves just a little further over the ledge.  
   
“Oi,” Takumi calls, nervousness wound tight in his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking, you should reconsider, alright?”  
   
The man lifts his head with a start, looking over at Takumi in wide-eyed astonishment.  
   
“Ah,” he says, and in his surprise takes a tiny step to the side without meaning to. But it’s enough. Enough to throw him off balance, that is. He tilts precariously over the edge of the building, and Takumi lunges forward to grab him by the hand, pulling him back. They land in an unceremonious heap on the cold cement, and lie there in silence for a time, both of them breathing heavily. As the thudding of his heartbeat returns to a steadier pace, Takumi slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. The man next to him does the same.  
   
“Thanks,” he says, soft and hesitant. Heartfelt in a way that makes Takumi uncomfortable.  
   
He shrugs. “…If you’d jumped,” he says, “the police probably would’ve been here all morning tomorrow. Might’ve made it hard to get to work. That’s all.”  
   
The man stares at him for a moment. And then, oddly enough, he laughs.  
   
“That’s true,” he says, with an edge of wry amusement to his voice. “I didn’t think about traffic conditions at all. I’ll make sure to pick a less inhabited location next time.”  
   
Takumi narrows his eyes. He can’t tell if this jackass is being serious or not.  
   
“I’m joking, obviously,” he continues, waving a hand as if to dismiss the thought. “I wouldn’t. Not after you came to my rescue like that.”  
   
He shifts, then, and Takumi finally gets a better look at him. There’s something pleasant about his face. Something friendly and instantly likeable (so different from Takumi, who has tried in the past to fix his so-called “resting scowl” with no luck). But beneath his affable smile he seems indescribably tired, too. He has the look of a person who hasn’t slept well in months – barely keeping himself together, pulled so tight that he’s begun to fray around the edges.  
   
Takumi’s starting to regret the callousness of his previous comment.  
   
“Y’know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “If you stick around… there’s always a chance things might get better.”  
   
He half-expects the guy to laugh again. _He_ probably would, if some stranger were giving him a trite “don’t be sad” pep talk.  
   
But instead the man sits there in thoughtful silence, seeming to contemplate Takumi’s words.  
   
“Speaking from experience?” he asks.  
   
Takumi is suddenly very glad for how dark it is up on this roof. His face would probably be giving him away in better lighting. He opens his mouth, trying to formulate a reply, but is interrupted as his phone starts to ring. He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden loudness of it, fumbling it out of his pocket and flipping it open without even checking the caller ID. He already knows who it must be.  
   
“Now’s not really the time,” he hisses, cupping a hand over his mouth.  
   
“…Huh? You’re the one who was supposed to be home half an hour ago,” Mari says. “And what do you mean ‘now’s not the time’? There’s still one more delivery to – ”  
   
“What? No! No way. I’ve been doing deliveries all damn day. Tell Keitarou I don’t care how ‘urgent’ it is. It’s ten o’clock at night and I’m done.”  
   
“Actually,” the guy next to him says, squinting at his watch, “it’ll be eleven soon enough.”  
   
“Even worse. Who the hell are these people that their dry cleaning can’t wait til…” He trails off, then, letting the phone fall away from his ear, as he notices the man getting to his feet. “H-hey. Are you…”  
   
“I’m fine now,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice that sounds forced. “Just a lapse in judgment.” He pauses, and seems to be struggling to find the right words, but in the end he merely shakes his head. “Thank you again. For going out of your way.”  
   
Takumi watches him as he walks away – at the way his shoulders are slumped low, like there’s something heavy pressing down on him – and wonders what else he could have said.  
   
Maybe there was nothing. Maybe it’s already too late, and he will open up the newspaper some morning soon to find a sad story and a stranger’s name.  
   
_Oh well_ , Takumi thinks (loudly, to drown out the other thoughts). _That’s just how it goes, isn’t it?_  
   
His throat feels tight, but it must be coincidence.  
   
  
   
  
   
He still can’t believe he managed to get this job.  
   
It’s not as if his résumé is particularly impressive – a college dropout with a few short-term minimum wage gigs, plus one job that _would_ look good if it weren’t for the… problematic circumstances of his abrupt firing. There must’ve been something about him that the higher-ups found promising, though he can’t for the life of him imagine what.  
   
Either way he’s amazed just to be here, and he’s not even in the building before the doubts start setting in. _Shit, what if this is some kind of mistake?_ he asks himself, stepping into the elevator and tugging at his collar, which suddenly feels far too tight. _They meant to hire someone else but instead called me? No, that doesn’t make any sense –_  
   
“Hold the door, will you,” someone says, and he does as asked automatically, still lost in thought as the person who spoke slips inside. It’s only once the elevator has started moving that he glances over at them and –  
   
He freezes.  
   
The man, seeming to sense Takumi’s gaze on him, looks at over him and immediately does the same, eyes widening as they stare at each other.  
   
It had been dark last night, but not dark enough that he wouldn’t know that face. Or that voice, he thinks, his mind finally playing catch-up.  
   
“ _You_ ,” they say, almost in unison, though Takumi’s ends up sounding more accusatory than anything.  
   
For a long time neither of them says anything else.  
   
“You… work here?” the guy says slowly.  
   
Takumi hesitates before nodding.  
   
The elevator glides to a halt, the doors sliding open with a quiet _ding_. Roof Guy looks back and forth between Takumi and the open doorway.  
   
“On… this floor?” he asks, pointing as if it weren’t obvious.  
   
Takumi nods once more. At this point he isn’t even surprised when they both get off. Or when they both seem to be headed in the exact same direction. Or when someone lifts a hand and grins and says “oh, Chief, looks like you already found the new recruit.”  
   
Which is how he finds himself being introduced to his new boss. “Kiba Yuuji, Branch Manager,” says the nametag clipped to his shirt pocket, and Takumi reads it again and again, repeating the words in his head. Kiba Yuuji. So Roof Guy has a name. They stand across from each other in awkward silence, both of them at a loss, until Kiba – “Chief” just doesn’t seem right – drags a hand across his face tiredly. When he looks up again he’s smiling, in a way that’s so hollow and fake it makes Takumi’s skin crawl. He can’t help but avert his eyes.  
   
“How are your qualifications?” Kiba asks, his tone conversational. (So this is it, then, Takumi thinks. We’re pretending nothing’s wrong.)  
   
“… They’re alright.”  
   
Kiba is in the midst of rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk nearby. He pulls out a manila folder – Takumi catches his own name written on the tab – and thumbs through it. If he sees something there that concerns him he doesn’t let on.  
   
“Honestly,” he says, still scanning Takumi’s file, “the job is a lot easier than they made it sound in the interview. Mostly data entry, though you are required to draw up a report every fiscal quarter, and – well. Nishida will give you the complete details. He should be here soon. You should get him to give you a tour, too.”  
   
He’s right – Nishida sprints into the room within the next few minutes, glasses askew and a bit red in the face, apologizing profusely for not being there before him. Even gives Takumi his business card, which he accepts with a bemused nod, biting back the obvious “but we work at the same place now, don’t we?”  
   
“I’ll leave you with him, then,” Kiba says, and holds out his hand to shake. “Good to have you, Inui-kun. I look forward to working together.”  
   
It’s the same, Takumi thinks, as he presses his palm against Kiba’s.  
   
The same warmth he’d felt last night, as he pulled this man back from the ledge.  
   
  
   
  
   
“What if,” he says, and frowns thoughtfully into his soup for a moment before continuing. “What if you knew someone’s secret, and they knew that you knew, but they were pretending that you didn’t, and also maybe pretending that they didn’t have a secret at all? What would you do?”  
   
Mari and Keitarou both turn and stare at him blankly from across the table, the seconds ticking by, until finally Mari says:  
   
“… That was way too hard to follow.”  
   
Keitarou nods in agreement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like you’re overthinking things again, Takkun.”  
   
“He does that a lot, doesn’t he?”  
   
“He really does.”  
   
“What… I do not!” Takumi protests, but they aren’t even listening to him anymore. They’ve started chattering away about some movie they both want to see, and he slumps down in his seat with an irritated huff. When was the last time he “overthought” anything? Never, that’s when.  
   
(He vows to do something spontaneous and poorly-planned sometime in the near future, just to show them.)  
   
  
   
  
   
He doesn’t see Kiba much the next day. Not until the late afternoon, when he leans over the cubicle wall to hand Takumi a piece of paper with an address written on it.  
   
“It’s the place we picked out for the welcoming party,” he says. “It’s only a couple blocks away. You can probably just follow one of us there, but just in case, y’know?”  
   
Takumi blinks up at him. “… Is it required?”  
   
Kiba seems taken aback for a moment before laughing softly. “Well it is _your_ welcoming party. I suppose I can’t force you, but… It’d be nice if you were there. Everyone would really like to get to know you a little better.”  
   
He gives him a hopeful look.  
   
Takumi wars with himself for a time, weighing the pros and cons, before finally sighing in defeat.  
   
It’s not as bad as he imagined it might be. The restaurant is fairly quiet – one of those old, run-down sort of places that Takumi has always gravitated towards, with a grumpy-looking woman behind the counter who seems like she’s been there for forty years. And his coworkers don’t require much conversation out of him, thankfully, accepting his one-word answers and allowing him to just sit and listen to their banter. At least until the end of the night, when some of them have had a beer too many, and the guy across from him – Tokumoto, that’s it – starts getting a little pushier.  
   
“So where’d you work before this?” he asks.  
   
“… Smart Brain.”  
   
Tokumoto’s eyes widen. “What, seriously? That’s, like… a gigantic company. I mean they’re _big time_. No way I’d quit if I had that kinda gig. What happened, man? You get fired?”  
   
Takumi’s grip tightens around his mug. They’ve all turned to look at him now, and he stares down at the tabletop, wishing he were anywhere else but here. He can hear himself breathing and it’s far too loud, and suddenly there’s that familiar voice, too, echoing in his head.  
   
_Useless. Why can’t you do anything right? You really think you’re good enough to be near her? You’ll only drag her down with you when you fail –_  
   
“How about you go get us one last round, Tokumoto?” Kiba’s voice says, and Takumi snaps back to reality with a jolt.  
   
“Huh? Why me?” Tokumoto says.  
   
“Because you haven’t moved from that spot all night,” Kiba laughs, nudging him with his elbow encouragingly. “Some exercise will be good for you.”  
   
Grumbling unintelligible complaints but not about to refuse an order from the Chief, Tokumoto gets to his feet and wanders over to the counter.  
   
“Oh, Inukai, what ever happened with your sister’s wedding?” Kiba asks, turning to the guy next to him with a smile. “Is it still on for April?”  
   
Inukai groans and immediately launches into a story about being dragged along to shop for bridesmaid dresses. By the time Tokumoto returns, balancing two beers in each hand, the subject of Smart Brain seems to have been forgotten completely.  
   
  
   
  
   
“Thanks,” he says later, as he trails several steps behind Kiba. The others all went their separate ways outside the restaurant. They’re the only two headed in this direction – the only two on the entire street, actually, but he supposes it _is_ past eleven on a Tuesday.  
   
“Hmm?” Kiba stops and turns back to look at him, tilting his head to the side. “For what?”  
   
“You know.” Takumi shifts awkwardly, wishing he had something to do with his hands, and instead settles for jamming them in his pockets. “For distracting them.”  
   
“Oh. Well it’s not like I could just leave you to fend for yourself,” Kiba says. “I’m your boss. It’s my job to look out for you.” He pauses, then, smile faltering, a sudden weariness about the way he’s carrying himself. “And… we all have those things, right? Things we’d rather not talk about.”  
   
_… Is he asking me not to bring it up?_ Takumi wonders. He’s not sure how long he can manage it. Keeping silent, that is. Not when this man looks sad enough to try the same thing again.  
   
“Right,” he says softly, and when they part at the next intersection he stands there for a time, watching Kiba’s retreating figure as he walks away, and wonders if he’s ever seen anything lonelier.  
   
  
   
  
   
A week in and he’s just about gotten the hang of the job. Kiba was right – it’s simple, for the most part, though luckily in a calming way rather than a mindnumbing one. (Honestly, at this point he’d even take mindnumbing without complaint. Anything is preferable to running deliveries day in and day out in that rickety old van, forcing a smile and fending off attempts at small talk as he hands people their laundry.)  
   
He’s in the middle of piecing together his first report when he hears a quiet murmur of voices coming from across the room. “Rina’s here,” someone says as they pass by, and he peers over his cubicle wall to find a group of people gathered near the elevators. One of them moves aside, and he gets a glimpse of a smiling woman with long hair pulled back, holding a baby in her arms.  
   
He watches as Kiba comes up to greet her. As they exchange pleasantries. As she offers him the baby to hold, and he lifts his hands as if to say “no, no, I couldn’t” before finally giving in.  
   
It’s the first time that Takumi has seen him look genuinely happy. His expression is soft as he looks down at this tiny squirming thing in his arms. The kid is clearly past the age where you have to be quite so delicate and careful, and yet his hand cradling the back of their head is so gentle it almost hurts to see.  
   
Of course the baby starts crying soon enough, and he rushes to give them back to their mother. But he’s still smiling as he turns away.  
   
As he catches Takumi staring.  
   
Takumi averts his eyes in a hurry, pretending to be engrossed by something on his computer screen. The back of his neck is suddenly very warm.  
   
“Mihara Rina,” Kiba’s voice says a moment later, from where he’s once again leaning over the cubicle wall. “She worked here before you. You’re her replacement, I guess you could say.”  
   
Takumi makes a quiet noise of assent to prove that he’s listening.  
   
“It’s nice to see, don’t you think? A new family.”  
   
There’s something in his voice that catches Takumi’s attention. He turns to find Kiba staring out across the office, watching the mother and child with a wistful expression. A quiet, resigned kind of longing.  
   
Takumi swallows hard as he studies Kiba’s face.  
   
The moment ends as quick as it came, Kiba shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, giving Takumi one last small smile as he walks away. But still the tight feeling in Takumi’s chest refuses to fade.  
   
“What’s with you?” Mari asks later, waving a hand in front of his face as she leans in to frown at him. “You’ve been spacing out ever since you got home.”  
   
He blinks at her, startled, and realizes he’s been trying to iron a shirt with the iron still unplugged.  
   
_We all have those things, right? Things we’d rather not talk about._  
   
“…‘S nothing,” he mutters. “Just thinking.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks @ the last-updated date* damn. starting to remember why i don't write chaptered shit  
> writing about kiba has become a little difficult lately but i'm gonna try and persevere (ง •̀_•́)ง

He almost runs right into Kiba the next morning. They round the corner at the same time, both of them stopping short, barely avoiding a collision.  
   
“Ah, Inui-kun,” Kiba says, and Takumi can’t help but stare. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone in this office wearing formal business attire. Kiba looks harried and slightly uncomfortable in his suit, which appears to be at least a size too small for him, too short at the wrists and too tight around the collar. His free hand keeps tugging at his tie.  
   
“Sorry, I’m already running late. If I don’t get moving I might miss my train,” he says. The laptop and the thick stack of paperwork tucked under his arm start to slide precariously, and he hurries to rearrange them. “Try to get along with everyone else while I’m gone, alright?”  
   
He gives him a reassuring smile as he brushes past, and Takumi turns to watch him as he disappears into the elevator and out of sight.  
   
“Where’s Ki – where’s the Chief going?” he asks, peering over the divide between his and Nishida’s desks.  
   
“Hmm? Oh, he’s headed for the main branch in Kyoto. They’re implementing some new software and nobody over there knows what the hell they’re doing, so they had to call in someone who does. This company is such a mess,” he says, but his tone of voice is fond.  
   
“How long is he gonna be gone for?”  
   
Nishida pauses in his typing, then, fingers hovering just above the keys, and looks up at Takumi in wide-eyed surprise. For a long moment he says nothing.  
   
“…What?” Takumi mutters, shrinking back a bit from Nishida’s stare.  
   
“No, it’s just… This is the first time you’ve seemed interested in anyone else. I thought you were annoyed by all of us, honestly. But it’s good to know. That you at least get along with Kiba-san, I mean.”  
   
“That – that’s not…” Takumi trails off, struggling to find the right words, his face suddenly, strangely warm. “There’s just something I wanted him to look over. That’s all.”  
   
“Oh?” Nishida says. The look he gives him is halfway between amused and disbelieving. “He’ll be back in about two weeks. Maybe a little less if we’re lucky. Whatever you have for him you can just put on his desk for the time being.”  
   
“Yeah, alright,” Takumi says softly, sinking down into his chair. Two entire weeks just to teach people how to use new software? That seems ridiculous.  
   
(Not that it really matters to him, of course.  
   
But still.)  
   
  
   
  
   
On Thursday morning someone leans over his cubicle wall, and Takumi glances up to find a different person there in place of the usual.  
   
_Right_ , he thinks, the thought settling heavy in the back of his mind. _Kiba isn’t here._  
   
“Oi, no need to look so happy to see me,” Tokumoto mutters, as he hands him the file he had requested. “Really know how to make a guy feel welcome, don’t you?”  
   
He storms off in a huff before Takumi has a chance to defend himself.  
   
  
   
  
   
On Tuesday evening, Mari turns down the volume on the television, nudges him with her elbow, and says:  
   
“Seriously, you’ve been out of it for days now. What’s up with you? You seem kind of… depressed or something.”  
   
“Yeah,” Keitarou calls from a few rooms away, his voice muffled through the walls. “Y’know, I noticed the same thing. Takkun, if you’re upset about something, you know you can always talk to us!”  
   
“Sure,” Takumi calls back. “Because I love to shout my problems all the way across the damn house. …How did you even hear that, anyway?”  
   
“So you admit you’re having problems?” Mari says, raising an eyebrow.  
   
“What – _no_ ,” he says, scowling at her. He yanks the remote out of her hand and turns the volume back up again. “Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about here.”  
   
Mari sighs, leveling him with one of those incredulous looks. “Alright. You don’t want to talk. But if you change your mind… you know what Keitarou said was true.”  
   
She nudges him with her elbow one more time.  
   
He stares pointedly at the television for a minute before giving in and nudging her back.  
   
  
   
  
   
On Friday afternoon he delivers his latest report to Kiba’s office, setting it on top of the stack, which at this point is coming dangerously close to tipping over. He moves to rearrange the papers and stops, staring out across the desk, struck by the sudden realization of how sparse it is.  
   
There’s clutter, sure – pens scattered, memos folded between the pages of books, post-its stuck to the PC monitor. But beneath that, there’s nothing. Everyone else has something at their workplace to identify them. Nishida has a calendar with pictures of some girl group that’s popular right now, the birthdays of everyone in his extended family circled in red marker. Inukai has a child’s drawings – his niece, he says, talking eagerly about her to anyone that will listen.  
   
Even Takumi has something: a candid photo of Mari and Keitarou that he took a few months back, both of them unprepared to have their picture taken, caught with idiotic expressions on their faces. (He gets a smug kind of satisfaction from looking at it, especially considering the sheer number of bad photos they’ve taken of _him_.)  
   
But Kiba’s office is utterly devoid of any personal touches.  
   
Maybe he’s just a private person, Takumi thinks. Maybe he likes to keep work and personal matters separate.  
   
Maybe there’s a reason for how empty this room feels.  
   
  
  
  
   
On Monday Takumi gets back from his break to find that Kiba has returned, looking tired but contented in a way that’s almost real, and the first thing that hits him is a staggering sense of relief.  
   
He hates this. Feeling responsible for this man who’s hardly more than a stranger. That voice in the back of his mind asking, “what if tomorrow is the day he doesn’t come in to work?” Would it be Takumi’s fault, then, for not saying anything? For keeping silent about that night on the roof? But who would he even tell, and why would he even bother? Other people’s problems are their own, aren’t they? This is no place for him to meddle.  
   
(But he would _care_ , too. That is the most startling thought – that it would be more than just guilt keeping him awake.)  
   
Kiba spots him across the room and lifts a hand, and Takumi ducks his head in recognition as he returns to his desk, pretending to be absorbed in the memo someone left there.  
   
“How have you been doing, Inui-kun?” Kiba’s voice asks a moment later.  
   
“Fine,” he says, still staring down at the paper in front of him, reading the same sentence again and again.  
   
“Inui’s been lonely without you,” Inukai says. Takumi glances up at him sharply.  
   
“I haven’t,” he says, and it sounds defensive even to his own ears.  
   
“Oh, come on. You’ve been looking dejected this entire time,” Inukai laughs. “Seriously, Chief. I think this guy’s gotten attached to you.”  
   
“That’s not – ” Takumi starts to say, but stops when he turns to look at Kiba, whose expression is suddenly odd. More genuine than he’s ever been, eyes wide and startled and strangely soft as he studies Takumi’s face. They stay like that, staring at one another, until Kiba clears his throat and turns away, telling Inukai about the souvenirs he brought back from his trip.  
   
Takumi can’t help but think that something feels different than it did before.  
   
  
   
  
   
On Wednesday Kiba asks if he’d like to go to lunch together.  
   
Despite the fact that he’s looking right at him, Takumi can’t help but glance around anyhow, as if he might be talking to someone behind him instead. But no, this invitation definitely seems to be meant for him. He almost asks “why?” but quickly thinks better of it.  
   
“I have a bento,” Takumi says after an awkward pause, pointing at the box on his desk. “So… thanks, but…”  
   
Kiba watches, wide-eyed, as he removes the lid to reveal the weirdly adorable contents. The vegetables seem to be arranged by colour, and there’s a pickled radish on top of the rice that’s been cut into the shape of a heart.  
   
“That’s… incredibly cute,” Kiba says, blinking down at it in astonishment. “Did your girlfriend make it for you?”  
   
“My roommate,” Takumi mutters. “He’s… good with things like this.”  
   
“A roommate, huh?” Kiba says, ‘hmm’ing softly. “That sounds nice.”  
   
He asks again on Friday, this time as the work day is finally drawing to a close (they’ve both been here far longer than they would’ve liked, stuck doing overtime to compensate for some error in the system).  
   
“Would you like to get dinner with me, Inui-kun?”  
   
Takumi glances up at his hopeful face and all potential excuses vanish inexplicably from his mind. He’s got… a thing to go to? A place to be? He opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s not even sure if he _wants_ to say no.  
   
“Alright,” he says, the word slipping out before he can help himself, and Kiba’s smile almost seems genuine.  
   
  
   
  
   
“I wonder… Why do you hardly ever look me in the eyes when I talk to you?”  
   
Takumi pauses, drink halfway to his lips.  
   
“I thought at first that it was just how you are. But… I’ve seen you glare straight at Tokumoto when he says too much. It seems like it’s just me that you avoid like that.”  
   
Takumi swallows hard, bringing his glass down slowly, his jaw clenched painfully tight. He wants more than anything to say _no, you’re wrong,_ but he’s not looking at him right now, is he? He can’t bring himself to. He’s staring instead at the patterns on the table’s lacquered surface, at Kiba’s hand resting against it, fingers slightly curled.  
   
“I don’t like your face,” Takumi mutters, and only realizes how terrible that sounds when he receives a prolonged silence in reply.  
   
“Wow,” Kiba says, with a sharp, startled laugh. “I, uh. I can’t say that doesn’t sting a bit, but alright. I appreciate the honesty.”  
   
“No,” Takumi says, putting all his frustration into this single word. He scrubs a hand across his face tiredly. “That’s – that’s not what I mean. It just… pisses me off. The way you’re always smiling even though you don’t mean it. Even though I know you’re not happy.”  
   
He finally meets Kiba’s eyes, then, and finds him staring back with a sad, quiet intensity. This time when he smiles there is something rueful and wholly real about it.  
   
“I was,” he says, “kind of hoping you had forgotten about that.”  
   
_That,_ he says, as if it were something you could just gloss over. (As if everything hasn’t been strange since that night.)  
   
Takumi can hear the sound of someone’s fist coming down hard on the table, and realizes, distantly, that it’s his own. “How the hell am I supposed to _forget_?” he asks, far louder than he’d intended, a kind of raw, trembling emotion to his voice that he hates the sound of. The people at the next table glance over to see what the commotion is, and he clears his throat awkwardly before turning his glare to them.  
   
“What’re you looking at?” he growls, and they quickly avert their eyes.  
   
“You,” he continues, turning back to Kiba, in a voice that’s softer now but still taut with tension. “You were actually serious back then, weren’t you? If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve…”  
   
Kiba is looking at him steadily.  
   
“You’re… a very nice person, aren’t you, Inui-kun?”  
   
Takumi blinks, taken aback, and in this moment of confusion he can feel his anger fade a bit.  
   
“Most people tend to forget about things that don’t concern them,” Kiba says. “I think it’s fairly normal to be that way. But you… You just can’t let it go, can you? Seeing someone in trouble.”  
   
Takumi opens his mouth to protest. I’m not good at all, he almost says. I’m not anything. But their waitress appears, then, setting their orders down in front of them with a smile, and the words sink like stones in the back of his throat.  
   
Kiba spends the rest of the meal telling conversational stories about the people he met at the Kyoto branch, as if nothing had happened at all.  
   
  
   
  
   
This is the first time they’ve walked next to each other, Takumi realizes. He pulls his jacket a little closer around himself – it’s oddly cold for early autumn – and tries not to think about the way their footsteps are in sync.  
   
At the corner where they parted ways last time, Kiba stops and turns to smile at him.  
   
“Sorry for dragging you along with me,” he says.  
   
Takumi frowns. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.”  
   
That gets a faint laugh out of Kiba, and Takumi can’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkle ever so slightly around the edges.  
   
“That’s true,” he says, and takes a step forward to kiss him.  
   
Takumi freezes in place.  
   
So maybe he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been kissed in his life. There was that weird girl back in his first year of high school who decided on her own that they were dating. For about a week, that is, until she learned that the rumors about him being a “dangerous delinquent” were pretty far off base and promptly lost interest.  
   
And there was his coworker at the bar where he’d had a brief part-time gig. “You’re like _that_ , aren’t you?” he’d said one day, as the two of them sat together on the steps out back, and kissed him in much the same way that Kiba is now. Maybe it’s telling that Takumi’s most vivid memory of that moment is thinking: _Like what?_  
   
When Kiba pulls back, he looks just as startled as Takumi feels.  
   
“Sorry,” he murmurs, brows knitting together. He’s still standing very close, fingertips resting lightly against Takumi’s wrist. “I just… kind of went along with the mood.”  
   
“The mood,” Takumi echoes. Maybe this isn’t _quite_ the same as with his former coworker. The places where Kiba’s lips touched his are very warm, the warmth spreading to burn the back of his neck, and he keeps playing back the minute details of the kiss in his mind.  
   
And that is when he notices the group of three teenage girls passing by, sneaking furtive glances at the two of them and whispering behind their hands.  
   
“Ah,” Kiba says with a wince. “I guess… this isn’t really the place, is it?” Seemingly without thinking, he grabs Takumi by the hand and starts down the adjacent street, pulling him along. “My apartment isn’t too far from here.”  
   
It has been a long, long time since Takumi last held someone’s hand. Even in the elevator Kiba still doesn’t let go, shifting his grip so that their fingers are laced together, and it’s only when they reach his front door that he breaks away, rummaging through his pockets for his key. The absence of his palm pressed against Takumi’s is, in this moment, jarringly noticeable.  
   
“You… live here alone?” Takumi asks as he’s ushered inside. (There’s only one set of slippers by the doorway, after all – Kiba has to dig around in the closet for a guest pair.) The place is huge for just one person, and fancier than anything Takumi’s used to – sleek, high-ceilinged, with stylish furniture and colourful, intricate murals on every wall.  
   
“Basically,” Kiba answers, after a moment of thought. “There is someone else who stops by every once in a while, but… He’s more of a freeloader than a roommate. Kind of a mystery, too. I don’t know what he does when he’s not here.”  
   
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks, turning towards the kitchen area. “Shochu, maybe? Someone gave me a bottle a while back, but I don’t usually have anyone to drink with.”  
   
“…Alright,” Takumi says, feeling somewhat out of place as he takes a seat on the couch. The fact that he’s here in Kiba’s home moments after being kissed is just now beginning to sink in, and he rubs his clammy palms against his pant legs. This is all a bit much to deal with at once. He looks around for something to distract himself and –  
   
There’s a photo album sitting on the coffee table.  
   
Takumi glances over at Kiba, whose back is still turned as he hunts around through the cabinets, and then leans in to look at it curiously. The page that it’s open to is all family photos, it seems – Kiba with two wholesome-looking middle-aged people who must be his parents, if the resemblance is anything to go on, and with an elderly woman who is most likely his grandmother. He looks so much younger and happier, Takumi thinks. Without any of the tiredness that seems to weigh on him now.  
   
He reaches out to flip to the next page, but pulls his hand back with a jolt when he hears Kiba’s footsteps approaching. (But not before he catches a glimpse of another photo – a cute girl with a gentle smile, Kiba’s arm slung around her shoulders. A sister, then? Or maybe…)  
   
Kiba sets his drink down in front of him and makes a soft “oh” sound when he notices the photo album.  
   
“They… died in an accident a few years back,” he explains, taking a seat next to Takumi and staring down at the page for a moment before snapping the album shut. “My parents, that is. So I can’t help but get a little nostalgic sometimes.”  
   
Takumi nods slowly. “Mine, too,” he says. “They’ve been gone for a while, though. Since I was a kid.”  
   
Kiba glances over at him with wide, startled eyes. “I – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up…”  
   
“S’alright. I’m over it.”  
   
It gets easier, he almost says, once the memories of their faces and voices start fading in clarity. Once you can no longer remember little things like their nervous habits or the songs they used to hum. Once they’ve been gone long enough that even photos can’t quite bring them back to life anymore.  
   
“Don’t you miss it, though?” Kiba asks, his voice quiet yet tight with underlying tension. “Having a family?”  
   
(He thinks about Keitarou, the night before Takumi’s job interview, his expression intent as he irons every miniscule crease out of Takumi’s shirt. Mari earlier that same day, saying “you need a haircut” and sitting him down in the kitchen to do just that, her hands far more careful and precise than he ever thought possible.)  
   
“I used to,” Takumi says with a shrug. “But it’s not so bad nowadays.”  
   
He sips at his drink, looking away pointedly, and a few moments later he can feel Kiba unwind a bit, a soft “I see” on his lips as he leans back.  
   
“Why’d you kiss me?” Takumi asks, the words slipping out before he can help himself.  
   
“Ah. That’s…” Kiba trails off, palming the back of his neck. “I’m sorry again. About all that. I guess it was kind of inappropriate, since I am your manager and all.” His mouth curves into a worried frown. “You don’t think that counts as sexual harassment, does it? Because I swear I didn’t intend to – ”  
   
“Kiba,” Takumi says, raising his voice a bit in order to cut him off. “It’s fine. I didn’t really mind it all that much.” He pauses, then, a tight feeling in his chest as he considers the implications of those words, and can feel Kiba staring at him in surprise. “It’s just… Why me?”  
   
Kiba lapses into thoughtful silence for a time.  
   
“It’s been a while,” he says finally. “Since someone actually seemed concerned about my wellbeing. I suppose it’s my own fault, too, for keeping everyone at arm’s distance. But… it’s pretty rare, don’t you think? To meet someone who cares about you from the very start.” He smiles with a hint of amusement, his knee bumping against Takumi’s. “Maybe it was fate.”  
   
“Yeah right,” Takumi mutters, and Kiba laughs.  
   
“All I know is that I like you, Inui-kun,” he says. “I’m not asking for anything in return. I just… wanted to tell you that.”  
   
You must be confused, Takumi wants to say. You’re just lonely, is all. There’s nothing about me to like.  
   
But Kiba seems so genuine in this moment, without any of the guardedness that he usually keeps around his emotions, that Takumi can’t help but believe it, just a little.  
   
(“Where’ve you been?” Mari asks later, then adds in a joking tone: “You have a hot date or something?”  
   
Takumi blinks at his reflection in the darkened window. He’s standing at the sink, washing the last of the dishes that have been piling up these past few days, and his hands go suddenly very still.  
   
“…Yeah,” he says, with a kind of dawning realization. “I think I did?”)


End file.
